Its Name Is Silence

Looked for, it cannot be seen. Listened for, it cannot be heard. Reached for, it cannot be grasped. Yet it is all around, in all things. The deepness and the mysterious about the Tao confounds. It evades definition. When it rises, there is no light. In its falling there is no darkness. Its quiet is deafening. It is a continuous thread beyond any description. Its very form is formless, its image nothing, and its name silence.